


same time next week

by Anonymous



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Anorexia, Eating Disorders, Hurt No Comfort, Vomiting, just hurt really, this is just venting with extra steps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:40:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26080555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Post-Sburb on Earth C, Sollux Captor is no longer half-dead and is instead fully-alive, but his bad habits have been reanimated along with him.
Kudos: 9
Collections: Anonymous





	same time next week

**Author's Note:**

> sorry if this sucks huge donkey dick, i'm new 2 tha whole writing thing.

When you woke up on Earth C, you assumed your time spent half-dead would’ve killed your bad habits along with the voices. But it’s never that easy.  
  
  
It’s 3 o’clock in the morning, and hunger pains are gnawing a hole in you. The empty feeling in your stomach is keeping you from sleep, but you know you could go for much longer before you’re in any real danger. It’s been 22 hours. You counted. There’s been times where you’ve gone days without eating, never even acknowledging any kind of hunger. You can do better than this. 22 hours is nothing. It’s weakslime. You shouldn’t be losing sleep over this. You’ve done this plenty of times, so why now is it so frustrating to make it through a single night without eating? You're ashamed of yourself. Physically, you're disgusting, you can't even stand to look in the mirror anymore without fixating on the weight you could lose. Mentally, you don't even have the self control to starve yourself for real.   
  
See? You're not worth shit on any level.  
  
It’s 6 o’clock in the morning, and you finally broke. How many calories could possibly be in one bowl of cereal? 200? 300? Whatever. It’s not that heavy. This is okay. You’re eating normally. You’re not binging. There’s nothing to worry about. You lasted just over 24 hours, it was a good run. You should be proud. There’s nothing to hate yourself for here. Still, anything past double digits is too much for your tastes.   
  
The compulsion to pull trig looms in the back of your mind.   
  


It’s 7 o’clock in the morning, and you’re shoving your fist down your throat. This isn’t your first time. You’re practically a professional in the retching-up-food department, but you can’t manage to make yourself vomit on command today. Your eyes start to water when your stomach lurches and you finally heave up what you ate, and then some. Most of your stomach bile goes with it, so you’re left gagging on the acid now coating the inside of your mouth. Right as your breathing begins to steady, your stomach contracts again and up comes more sickly bile. Your body keeps pushing and pushing until you’re completely empty. Your throat burns. Your eyes sting with tears. You’re shaking. It’s all too much, and you wonder why you put yourself through it to begin with. But you know you’ll be here again in a few days—weeks if you’re lucky—repeating the same old mistakes.   
  


It’s 8 o’clock in the morning, or maybe it’s 9, you lost count during today’s festivities. You lay awake in bed once again, now dwelling on your screwed up sense of self. You may be older now, and your eyes may not be the same anaglyphic red and blue they once were, but you’re still the same fucked up kid you were in the beginning, with all the same fucked up vices. After you do something stupidly self destructive, you tend to fall into this same weirdly chill rhythm of self psychoanalysis. Your thoughts are slowly consumed by scattered observations of your fucked up mutant brain. Your eyes fall half lidded as your consciousness fades, and you’re welcomed into the oblivion of sleep.


End file.
